


A Weekend Away

by K_iddo



Series: Worthless to One [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime, Crime Husbands, Discussion of childhood emotional abuse, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Organized Crime, Romance, Smut, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: There is a cap on how much joy a relatively sane person can get out of the way they live, excitement and power are exhilarating, but exhausting. Oswald is exhausted, he can see it on his face and he knows that spending the whole day worried that he might have lost him has not helped. All that carnage had been a lot, a nasty cap on an unpleasant day where the reality of the danger of what they do smacks them in the face. Gotham is their home, it is their territory, even, but it’s macabre oddness can become cloying.Ed is not really sure if he would care about the danger if he was not with Oswald, and he wonders if the same is true for him.“Let’s go somewhere.” Ed says, because he has to try and find some kind of solution.





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald paces his office, the nail on his thumb is blunt so he is just biting the skin there instead, making it red and raw. If Ed were here, he would tell him to stop, _‘you’re going to get another blister,’_ he would say, looking at him over his glasses. But Ed isn’t here, Ed is missing and potentially maimed or worse.

_‘Stop, stop, calm down, breathe.’_

He almost wants to snap back at his own thoughts that calming down is not an option, that he can’t just _will_ himself to stop feeling how he feels. His cane clicks on the shiny floor as he supports himself while he paces, and goes to his desk to find a pack of cigarettes in his drawer - another thing Ed would tell him not to do if he was here.

_‘Well, the idiot shouldn’t have got himself caught then should he?’_

It makes him feel a bit better, anyway, the taste of it and the soothing hit of nicotine, but his heart is still hammering like it did sometimes when he was a little younger, when he would be on his way to rat on one faction and pray that the other didn’t spot him. He wants a drink, but he doesn’t get himself one, he needs to be clear headed and he knows it will just exacerbate his headache. A headache that is intensifying with each passing moment. 

_‘This is what happens when you care about people, they get themselves hurt and_ **_I_ ** _end up the nervous wreck,_ **_I_ ** _have to deal with it. If he’s alive I’m going to kill him anyway for doing this to me.’_

“Boss.” His office door swings open, Zsasz appears in the doorway, and Oswald is slightly encouraged that his expression doesn’t look too grim.

Still, it’s hard to tell with Victor, he has never really managed to get ahold of what the proper emotions are in a given situation. 

“We’ve found Riddler, looks like he’s gotten into something with the Ricci gang, a lot of them; trackedthem to a warehouse by the docks.” He says, still not coming all the way into the room.

“And?” Oswald says impatiently, irritated that he’s burying the lede. He can feel the tension in his neck of trying not to yell. 

“Looks like they’ve got him tied up. It was just one guy that tracked him, so he came back for your orders… And, _hopefully_ , some really big guns.” He says. “My bet is they’re looking to ransom him.”

“Get my car.” Oswald holds his cigarette between his lips and picks up his coat where it is hanging by the door. “Tell everyone that I want them down at the warehouse _now_.”

“… With really big guns?”

“ _Of course!_ ” He snaps.

When he’s in the back of the car, his leg is bouncing erratically, and he clutches the shotgun in his hands tightly as he looks out of the window and chews the inside of his mouth. He cannot dwell on any idea that they might be too late, and tries instead to be angry with Ed for being so reckless. 

_‘All his plans, the constant sketching and murmuring aloud and he manages to mess something up and push it too far.'_

Oswald has said it to him a thousand times, they had fought about it, even, that Ed’s desire to prove how smart he is and make such a theatre of everything he does would get him killed. He had accepted that Ed’s compulsions were his own, and he couldn’t do anything to stop him - wouldn’t _want_ to do anything to stop him, to just be another person in his life he has to stifle himself for. 

_‘Should have tried harder, should have tried to convince him, should have forced him to take it easy with the schemes. If he’s dead it’s my fault.'_

Normally, Oswald wouldn’t bother with his gun, not when he has so many of his own people coming with him, but he needs to on this occasion; he needs to personally put a hole through anyone that touched Ed.

*** *** ***  


In his defence, Ed could have never predicted that in all the times he had seen the Ricci gang come to this particular warehouse to pick up their illicit merchandise, the one time he tries to rob them apparently falls on some kind of family affair where at least twelve of them show up. Ed is a smart man, incredibly sharp and quick thinking, but _physically_ he is not much of a match for a group of large, experienced mob thugs.

Of course, ending up with his hands tied at the wrist with rope and stretched over his head to attach to a cargo hook was quite clearly never a part of his plan. His shoulders ache terribly, and his skin is rubbed raw in an effort to wriggle in such a way that he can slip his hands out. To no avail. 

On top of anything else, the sock to the jaw that knocked him to the ground is definitely bruising. 

“Someone tell me why we ain’t just killing him?” One of the larger members of the gang asks, in a thick Gotham accent. Ed has no idea which one, his eyes are covered with a blindfold that makes trying to find an exit route particularly difficult. His glasses are fogged up under the cloth, only adding to his discomfort on every level.

“You kiddin’ me? This is the Riddler, you know how much the GCPD will pay to get him alive?” 

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t mind him dead, neither.”

“You idiot, it’s still murder even if it’s some asshole in a green suit.”

Ed wrinkles his nose.

_“If I die listening to these idiots talk to one another I will be bitterly disappointed.”_ His other self says, from somewhere, and that’s to be expected. Why his manic genius alter-ego can’t think of anything helpful to say in this moment is beyond him. _“There are some situations where you just have to admit defeat, buddy, and I would count this as one of them. Let’s just hope to get rescued by our handsome suitor.”_

He wants to scoff aloud at his own ridiculous, unhelpful thoughts, and continues to try and wriggle out his plans. Not being able to see, and the pain in his face and arms is making it difficult to think. 

Maybe he should just offer them money; money, he has.

“You know who would pay even more for him? Penguin. They’re partners, right?”

“I heard a little more than that if you know what I -“ 

A resounding bang that is definitely a gunshot echoes out across the vast room, and it makes him jump near out of his skin, reflexively jolting his arms to cover his head and pulling the muscles in his neck. He swears, but it is drowned out by the sound of more gunfire, a lot of it, all different kinds of weapons, and thankfully, none of it seems to be hitting him.

_“Oh, Ozzie came through! Of course he did, I knew it!”_

There is no fighting the relieved laugh that bubbles up out of his mouth, because he very much doubts that it is the cops that have come to his aide so vehemently after some of the games he has played with the GCPD. He wishes he could cover his ears, all he can hear is the discharge of weapons and the sound of bodies hitting the floor around his feet. 

As soon as it began, it stops, and Ed can hear his own ragged breathing over the ringing in his ears again.

“That’s half my fuckin’ guys you just slaughtered you little freak! You used to understand honour, the code of how these things work!” That voice sounds closer than he expected.

Someone takes the blindfold off his eyes abruptly, and he blinks against the harsh light of the room. It isn’t Oswald who took it off, because he’s right in front of him, shotgun pointed at the mob boss currently on the floor at his feet. He’s quite sure he has never been more glad to see him in his life. 

“How things work has changed, of late, in case you haven’t noticed, you pathetic relic.” Oswald spits back. “Somewhere between the time literal monsters flooded our streets and the time you captured someone _you know full well is my ally_.”

“We coulda discussed this like men, Penguin, but people stopped expecting you to act sane a long time ago.” The man on the ground spits blood, and only then does Ed notice the wound in his stomach, reddening his shirt.

If he expects to take Oswald aback at all, he doesn’t, all he gets is a bitter little laugh and a cock of his head.

“Then this was a _particularly_ stupid thing for you to do, wasn’t it?” He says with a bitter grin, that vein harsh across his temple.

With that, he aims his shotgun at his head and fires, face stony against the kickback, and the result at such a close range is… grisly, even for Ed. What was a man’s face is now a mess of blood and bone and tissue that no longer resembles a human being at all. 

Ed has to look away, nose wrinkled, but Oswald seems unfazed by the bloody mess, just lets out a breath like he’s just had a bracing walk on a winter’s day, and finally faces him.

“Oswald.” It comes out of his mouth at bit breathless. He is _so relieved_ to see him, but also more than a little embarrassed that he’s had to bring out the battalion because he, intelligent and meticulous as he is, managed to get himself caught by a group of mafia idiots.

“Will someone untie him please?” He addresses his men, all dressed in black, same as him, and surveying the bodies that litter the ground to make sure no one is still twitching. The huge room is extremely cold, but he swears Oswald’s tone makes the temperature drop another five or so degrees. 

_“Oof, someone’s mad.”_

Oswald walks over to the open cargo container, the specific one Ed was planning to rob, and surveys the inside. 

His wrists are finally untied and his arms fall to his sides, and he lets out a breath of relief and rolls his shoulders. He has pulled his neck, there is a sharp twinge down his tendon, and he’s sweating; he combs his hair out of his face with his fingers and cleans his glasses off on his tie.

“Collect this, we might as well get something out of this trip.” Oswald says pointedly, and Ed looks over at him. He is still very much not looking in his direction, and hands his gun off to Zsasz so he can lean on his cane.

The warehouse looks like a small battle has just taken place, grim and chilly, and Ed just wants to leave. The entire thing has been such a failure, a painful, exhausting failure, and he needs to go home, and perhaps try and get Oswald to look him in the face. That metallic blood smell is up his nose, making him feel nauseous.

Ed approaches Oswald, rubbing his raw wrist.

“Oswald.” He tries again.

“Let’s go, it’s late.” He says, his tone giving nothing away. Oswald’s good at that, when he wants to be, being completely cold, and Ed can’t help but feel a little irked.

_“Is_ **_he_ ** _not relived to see_ **_me_ ** _?”_

Ed would be relieved if he’d thought there was a chance Oswald could be dead. He marches out ahead of him, his shoulders drawn up and tight, and he spares a glance over to Zsasz, who gives him a vaguely sympathetic face that would have been amusing in any other circumstance, if he had not been the one drawing Oswald’s ire. 

“I had a plan.” Ed lies, having to broaden his stride to catch up with him… well, he half-lies, he was _working_ on a plan, would have had one eventually. 

“ _Oh_ , looks like it.” Oswald says, and his cool tone completely breaks down into open derision. 

“I did!” Ed almost jogs up to his side, takes his forearm to get him to look at him, which he does, and he isn’t sure if it makes him feel any better. 

“Were you going to tell him a riddle and confuse him into not cutting your head off to send to me?” Oswald’s chin is turned up to him in the expression of tight defiance.

“Here we go, any excuse to make fun of my processes, you take it.” They’re still walking to the car, pace quick, and speaking in hushed but harsh voices so no one can hear them bicker. 

“Hell of a process, Ed, really. Can you teach it to me?” Oswald mocks, and Ed feels a little stab of irritation in his gut. 

“Oh, _shut up._ ” Is all the eloquence he can muster as Oswald gets in the drivers’ seat for a change, slamming the door, and Ed, childishly, does the same when he sits beside him. 

And it is uncomfortably quiet as they leave the docks and drive through the city, Ed has his arms crossed and his is looking out of the window, and Oswald stays focussed on the road ahead. It being the very early hours of the morning, the sky is only just starting to lighten and the streets are near empty, so they’re at the very least not sitting in traffic in this thick, uncomfortable atmosphere. 

It’s not the most mature thing to do, giving each other the silent treatment, but Ed can’t help but be annoyed at _Oswald’s_ annoyance. It was not as if he’d meant to get caught, and he would not begrudge saving Oswald in a heartbeat if it came to it. He looks at Oswald’s profile, thinks of speaking, then looks back out of the window.

“I was worried abou-“

“I would’ve been fine-“

They both started speaking at the same time, and abruptly stopped at the same time too. Ed swallows and turns to face Oswald, deciding to let him speak first. 

“I was worried about you.” He says, and his fingers worry the steering wheel. “That’s why I was angry.”

He clears his throat, and for the second time that day is surprised by his own stupidity. Of course Oswald wasn’t just mad because he’d made a mistake. Ed truly hates when they obvious answer has been in front of his face the whole time and he hasn’t spotted it. 

“I know.” Ed says, because he does, now.

“If you’d died I would have been furious with you.” He says.

Ed fights off the affectionate laugh that bubbles up: Oswald’s mouth is set in that serious line, and he can see the distress in the pinch of his forehead - he has no desire to make him feel mocked on top of that.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and he reaches over to put his hand on Oswald’s knee. “I should’ve…” Another thing he hates, struggling to find the right words to say. 

Oswald nods anyway, understanding, and he lets a breath out of this nose that Ed hears shake.

It’s a rather difficult to get used to, this unconditional love thing, the idea that Oswald couldn't care less if he makes a mistake, but cares very much if he gets himself hurt. 

“And don’t tell me to shut up again.” He says, finally. 

Ed smiles a little bit at that.

“Okay.” He squeezes Oswald’s knee, and lets out a sigh of his own. 

*** *** *** 

Getting a desk in the master bedroom became an absolute necessity; Oswald sleeps light and can’t stand Ed getting up and leaving the bedroom in the night when ideas strike him, then slipping back into bed in the early hours. He acts like it’s because it disturbs his rest, but Ed knows Oswald just likes him to be there, in the room.

It’s not a needy thing, of course, Oswald would never admit to having an ounce of neediness in him.

Ignoring his thoughts and going back to sleep is had never really been an option for Ed, when he has a good idea, he has to follow that train of thought to its conclusion, work through it, or feel frustrated and upset the next day when he realises it has fallen out of his ears in sleep.

Oswald is breathing steadily behind him, and it’s rather a pleasant white noise. They had both taken up in the large master bedroom of the mansion, so there’s a fair bit of distance between his chair and the bed, and his oak desk is as large and opulent as everything else in the house.

Nursing a cup of tea, he feels the bruise forming on his jawline and grimaces, and tilts the desk lamp so he can see the papers in front of him better, covered in ciphers and notes in neat, fine pen. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he focusses on his work, ignores the faint ache on his face.

A choked noise behind him breaks his concentration, and the sound of sheets rustling makes him whip round fast enough to hurt his neck, for the second time that day. 

Oswald has sat bolt upright in bed, he’s covered in a sheen of sweat and breathes heavily, his hands gripping the sheets so his knuckles are a harsh white.

Ed knows what it is already and does not panic: where his own nightmares came in waking form, taunting apparitions of himself in the mirror, Oswald’s are more traditional and arrive in his sleep. It’s the ‘therapy’ he’d had at Arkham, that Hugo Strange put him through; Oswald is willing to talk to him about almost anything, but still says very little about that.

“Oswald, Oswald, you’re fine.” Ed moves to sit beside him on the bed and takes his hand tightly, trying to ground him to reality.

Oswald faces at him, and his look of wide eyed fear lingers for just a second before he seems to awake more, his chest rising and falling heavily. 

“I - I didn’t - I would never hurt her -“ He shakes his head, and his voice cracks. Dreams or no, it creates a tight pain in his chest to hear Oswald sound so upset - so young too, like a scared little boy. 

He puts a hand on his head and cradles it for a second, the back of his hair is wet, the night terrors always break him out in a terrible clammy sweat. 

“I know.” Ed appeases, though he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and lets Oswald just get his breath back and return to earth for a while. He stays close to him and watches him calm.

He lets out a final, shaking breath that wracks his whole body and puts his hands on his face.

“God.” He breaths into his palms.

“Water?” Ed offers, and Oswald nods.

When he returns with the cold glass, Oswald looks altogether more himself again, he rests his back against the headboard and he has smoothed his hair away from his sweaty face. Ed lets him take a long gulp and stops himself from asking questions. He can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s bothering him, he can’t figure out a solution if he can’t see the whole picture.

It’s biting at his stomach, the desire to just ask. 

“They put it in my head that I would hurt my mother.” Oswald says, unprompted, and Ed wonders if he could see it in his face that he had been dying to ask. “I had to watch myself… hurt her, so violently, over and over.”

He keeps quiet, lets him speak.

“Until I really believed that I would.” He lets out a bitter breath of a laugh. “And then I did.”

“No, you didn’t.” Ed says firmly. “The Galavan’s did that, not you.”  
  
Oswald looks at him with tired scepticism, his eyes are still a little wet from his dream.

“It was my fault though.” He says, and Ed shakes his head and takes his hand gently. 

“You can’t blame yourself for that, you tried your best to save her. They’ve gone over this so many times, Oswald’s guilt over his mother’s death, and Ed knows full well there is nothing he can say to balm that hurt.  
  
“It’s today that’s triggered it, isn’t it? You haven’t had one of these nightmares for weeks.”

“No.” Oswald shakes his head, but Ed knows he is lying to make him feel better. “It’s just everything… this job, it gets… well you know how it gets.”

Ed does. There is a cap on how much joy a relatively sane person can get out of the way they live, excitement and power are exhilarating, but exhausting. Oswald _is_ exhausted, he can see it on his face and he knows that spending the whole day worried that he might have lost him has not helped. All that carnage had been a lot, a nasty cap on an unpleasant day where the reality of the danger of what they do smacks them in the face. Gotham is their home, it is their territory, even, but it’s macabre oddness can become cloying. 

Ed is not really sure if he would care about the danger if he was not with Oswald, and he wonders if the same is true for him.

“Let’s go somewhere.” Ed says, because he has to try and find some kind of solution. 

“Back to your old apartment again?” Oswald suggests, sarcastically, with a small smile. That _had_ been quite a fine couple of days. 

“No, somewhere else, outside of Gotham, just for the weekend. What’s the point in being so rich if we can’t enjoy it?” Ed turns Oswald’s hand over and circles his fingertips over his palm.  
  
“We can’t fly anywhere, Ed, we need to be able to come back when we need to.” Oswald leans his head back on the headboard.

“Upstate then, that cabin Maroni had that you told me about that you took over. Pretty sure he’s not using it, being six feet under and all…” 

“Isn’t it a little cold to go upstate?” Oswald is fighting it, but Ed can tell he likes the idea, much as he might have to wrench him away from his duties. 

“It’ll be cosy.” He nudges his knee. “Romantic.”

Oswald smirks a bit and shakes his head, meeting his eye.

“People will wonder where we are.” He says, though he does not sound like he cares as much as he should.

“Well, they’ll probably assume we’ve either murdered each other or eloped.” Ed says, to make Oswald chuckle. “Oswald, I just think being away from this madhouse for a while can’t hurt, breathing some fresh air for a change. That’s something that normal people say, right?”

“You know I think normal people _do_ say that.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell Zsasz then, we have business upstate, we’ll only be gone for three nights.” He stands up and goes to find Oswald’s phone.

“ _Three_?” Oswald starts to get out of bed with him.

“Yes, also known as ‘a weekend away.’” Ed has returned to the bed and slipped the phone in his hand before Oswald can swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Oswald will be loathe to leave his work behind, so he knows he has to rush him a little. “We’ll leave in the morning, go on a little road trip.”  
  
“Ed…”

“Your empire won’t fall apart, and if it does I’m sure someone will text you a heads up.” He flips open the phone for him and puts it back in his hand. “Now, in terms of road trip food, do you prefer red vines or jolly ranchers?” 

*** *** *** 

It is quite a way upstate; Ed drives and does not complain that Oswald occasionally nods off with his head resting against the window. Long car journeys have always made him sleepy, and there’s something quite nice about travelling this same stretch of road with not one bit of the tension there had been the last time, when he had known for a fact that Maroni was suspicious of him and liable to kill him. 

Being in the car with Ed is entirely without tension, probably the only person he can be alone with and know for a fact they aren’t plotting behind his back. It almost makes him laugh sometimes, the contrasts his life has now - it isn’t all so dark anymore, it is shockingly domestic at times. 

They stop for gas, and Oswald can see Ed moving around inside the station from where he waits in the passenger seat. He turns up the heat in the car while he has the chance, and warms his hands over the vents. He looks so different, Ed, in his tweed coat and hat, and it makes him feel even further away from Gotham, even though they’re only a few miles down the highway. The pressed suits and pristine hair are more than appealing on him, but Oswald can’t deny the attractiveness of casual, slightly dorky Ed. 

He can see him smiling at the cashier, nodding his head politely. He has such a classic handsomeness to him, Oswald can imagine him in black and white.

When he re-enters the car he hands Oswald a box of milk duds, a red vine already hanging between his own teeth.

“Did you get my lighter?” He asks, and Ed nods, though he frowns pointedly as he hands it to him. “I’ll quit in the new year.”

“Do you know that smoking causes about 93% of oropharyngeal cancers? And you can still get it after you’ve quit?” He says like he’s reciting some fun fact, though Oswald knows full well he looks these things up on purpose. 

“Well, if I’ll still get it after I quit I’d might as well keep going that, hadn’t I?” He rolls down the window, and takes his cigarettes from his pocket. 

“Hilarious.” Ed turns up the heat and glances pointedly at the now open window, which is letting in the frigid air. Still, he would complain if the care were filling with smoke too. 

The further upstate they head, the colder the weather seems to get, and as the landscape fades from urban to rural, everything becomes covered in white as far as the eye can see, the fields and woods all around blanketed in thick snow. It’s a pretty picture, really, like a postcard, and Oswald can’t help but feel a bit out of place in it. 

He feels an odd feeling in his stomach when they pull up to the cabin, finally, something like deja vu, but not quite. It feels vaguely victorious to be coming back here again, Maroni dead, him the King of Gotham enjoying the spoils with his lover. When Maroni had dangled him on the edge of a string and tried to make him sweat, he would have never anticipated _this_ turn of events. 

They take their bags from the trunk, and make their way up the icy path to the cabin steps.

“Gosh, that is some fresh air.” Ed says, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

_‘How does he go from being the fearsome Riddler to talking like a complete boy scout like this?’_

“By golly, it is.” Oswald gently mocks, but Ed seems to miss it, walking ahead of him. It is not easy getting footing on this ground, but the metal brace he wears over his shoe provides a surprising amount of grip.

Unfortunately, Ed isn’t wearing such a thing, and slips on the way up the path, looking particularly ungainly on those long, thin legs as he falls directly onto his backside, dropping the suitcase. 

Oswald can’t fight the loud laugh that bubbles out of his mouth, to the point where he it makes him double over and clutch his stomach, and Ed is red faced and scowling at him when he rights himself, which makes it no less funny.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and cannot even force himself to sound concerned. 

“ _No_ , I might have sprained something!” Ed protests huffily, his cheeks now glowing from the cold as he makes his way up the wooden stairs and unlocks the front door. 

“ _Oh_.” Oswald sticks out his bottom lip in faux sadness. “Should I call an ambulance?”

Ed doesn’t respond to him, just lets out a loud sigh and makes his way inside, Oswald close behind, biting back his amusement just about.

The place is exactly how he remembers it, and he remembers quite well, particularly the smell of leather and old dark wood that he had been unable to enjoy last time. The vast stone fireplace is inviting, cold and barren is it is now, though he can really do without the mounted deer heads adorning the walls above it. 

He can see his breath on the air, and closes the door quickly. 

“You want something to eat?” Ed asks, removing his hat and shrugging off his coat. The material has made his hair curl a little on his forehead, Oswald likes that.  
  
“Anything but oatmeal.” He mutters, and goes to the fire to get the frigid place warmed up.

Once it is lit, and there is a healthy, quiet roar to it, Oswald moves away and goes to Ed in the kitchen. He has already rolled up his sleeves and is rifling through the cupboards looking for pans. 

“Do you mind if I take a shower while you cook?”

“Sure, it’s not like you’re any help in the kitchen anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“No offence, but you have a tendency to over-salt, and over-butter.”  
  
“Offence taken, cook your own dinner next time.”

They both know Oswald isn’t actually angry, and he likes that, mutual understanding and the fact he can joke in his own way without it being taken badly. Honestly, he _can’t_ cook to save his life.

The house hasn’t quite warmed up yet, but the shower water is at least incredibly hot. He lets it run for a while before getting in, and sets to removing his outer-metal brace, his clothes, and then the smooth leather one round his knee and down his calf. 

He might have had some kind of reconciliation with Fish in the end, but he could never stop cursing her name for the state of his leg.

Taking his time with a shower, he enjoys the way his limbs are warmed by the spray, and rubs the lavender scented shower gel into his skin and hair.

When he gets out, and stands in the steam of the room, he can smell bacon frying in the kitchen and his stomach rumbles in response. Ed would make him fat if he wasn’t careful.

So he quickens his pace a little, massages expensive cream into his face, particularly his nose, which has reddened with the cold. It’s always worse in the winter, his skin, and he hates it, has to cover it up with pressed powder sometimes so it doesn’t look so purple and cracked. _‘Little scaly faced bitch’_ he can still hear.

He wishes he could scrub the old image of him from everyone’s minds, he doesn’t look like that now, it isn’t who he is.

But Ed had liked him back then, though, for some reason, so it cannot have been all bad.

*** *** *** 

The oil the bacon cooks in spits back at him, and Ed hisses and touches his wrist, glances at Oswald is in his old maroon knit sweater and black trousers. He really does love him as the Penguin, all those sharp affectations and his boundless poise, but he is at his best like this: skin fresh and soft with moisturiser, hair un-styled and fluffy between his fingers, Oswald is soft and pliable only for him. 

There’s no need to ask how Oswald prefers him, he’s made it quite abundantly clear before how sexually attracted he is to him in Riddler-mode; but his genuine, true affection? That comes out most when it is just the two of them, alone, when he’s out of that green suit and his need for trickery and melodrama has been satisfied, when he’s _just_ Ed.

He’s glad not to have lost this part of himself too, the softer part that he keeps between them, and wonders if he would have managed to hold onto it if it weren’t for Oswald… if he had just let him fall into the icy waters and never surface. 

Ed shudders when he thinks of it, and tries to push it from his mind, as if he ever really could. Dwelling on it is pointless and makes him morbid.

Oswald sits on the floor in front of the fire and leans his back against one of the large wingback chairs, outstretching his leg and yawning wide.

“Tired?” Ed hands him his sandwich, and sits cross-legged across from him on the floor, since they are sitting on the floor, apparently. 

“Road trips.” Oswald shrugs, and takes a healthy bite of his sandwich, at which Ed smiles to himself.

“Zsasz rang while you were in the shower, nothing big, just asking what he should do when people come sniffing around about the Ricci’s being taken out.”  
  
“And you said?” He has pushed the food into his cheek to speak, making him resemble a hamster for a moment.

“I believe honesty is the best tactic in this situation.” He bites his own sandwich. “No apologies, they crossed us and they faced the consequences.”

_“‘Us.’ Do I say that too much?”_

“I agree, they were getting on my last nerve anyway.” He shakes his head. “The audacity to think that - _knowing_ that you and I are partners - to think that they even lay a finger on you and keep their lives.”

He is barely even looking at him as he talks, caught up in his irritation. The faint bruise on Ed’s jaw twinges at the mention. 

“Well, they are well and truly dealt with now.” Ed chuckles, and sips his tea. “It’s a shame, because had such a good plan for when you gave the word to take them out…” And he rubs his fingertips together, hoping Oswald will ask him to elaborate.

“Go on…” He says.

Ed grins and sits up on his knees. “Okay, I would have just needed an old church organ and some electric charges…”

*** *** *** 

Oswald had quite forgotten how much he enjoyed interrupted time with Ed; of course, they have the evenings together often enough, but it’s often tinged by the knowledge and stresses of the day to follow. Now, they sit in front of the fire and drink the very expensive liquor and wine that Maroni had left behind, knowing that they will not be disturbed.

He can feel his cheeks glowing a little from the alcohol, but he isn’t drunk yet; it is just enough to make his stomach feel pleasantly warm, and a dull buzz to begin. 

“So, it didn’t help, then? Your mother marching into school and yelling at the bullies?”

“ _Of course not_ , they just had new ammunition, my mother’s accent and the way she dressed.” Oswald can laugh about it now, and Ed does too. He can see his mother still, in her worn Miss Havisham dress, and himself, standing behind her skirts, scowling and embarrassed. 

It occurs to him that he mentions his mother quite often, and he hopes that it will push Ed to mention his own parents - he knows little to nothing about his childhood. It feels like he’s missing a portion of the picture. 

“You know, I feel like I talk about my parents all the time, but I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned yours.” He says it delicately, because he has always sensed Ed’s silence of the matter might mean it is a sensitive subject.

The bob of his adams apple and the way his easy smile fades very much suggests that too.

“It’s not a very interesting story.” He says, and stands while he clicks his glass down on the side table, before heading back over to the liquor cabinet. “I don’t think of them very much anymore, I’m not sure if they’re still alive.”  


“Why not?” Oswald asks.

“They were just…” He brings Oswald a fresh glass of wine and sits down with his own drink. Oswald can tell he is struggling. “We weren’t close.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Ed, I was just curious, I know it’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s fine, they’re not the boogeymen, I can talk about them, it’s just hard to explain, I guess.” He lays his back against the arm of the couch and lays his long legs out, seeming to think for a moment.

“So, for example, for my third grade science fair, I built a very complicated Rube Goldberg machine, that could fry and egg, it took me weeks, I didn’t think about anything else - I would plan it out in my head over dinner and lie in bed at night figuring it all out. And I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it either, I wanted to do it by myself.”

That sounds like Ed; Oswald would have put good money on him being very much that child in school.

“So, of course, it was incredibly complex and it worked perfectly. I won first prize by a long shot, a little gold plastic trophy, and a gift voucher for the local seafood restaurant.” He smiles ruefully, and Oswald smiles too at the image of little Ed in his big glasses.

“I took it home and showed my parents, I was s _o proud_ of myself, probably for the first time in my life…” He purses his lips. “And my father smashed it on the ground.”

Oswald feels himself almost gasp, but holds it back, the sadness in Ed’s voice makes his chest hurt.

“He said, ‘you must have cheated!’” Ed points at the air, mimicking a slightly deeper voice. “‘You were always dumb a stump, Eddy, you expect us to believe you changed overnight!?’” He swallows deeply. “And he made me go to the school and tell them I cheated and got someone else to build it for me, and my mother just let him.”

“But you didn’t cheat.” Oswald shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t. But that’s what they truly thought, and it’s how they saw me until they day I moved out. A cheater. Anything I ever achieved was always worthless, because I could have never have done it honestly anyway. And trust me, for years I tried to figure this out, why he did that to me, why they hated me so much, but it wasn’t hatred at all.” He looks at Oswald, who is desperately trying not to well up - it isn’t _his_ story to cry over. 

“They just didn’t _know_ me, they never cared to _try_ and know me at all. It was easier to treat me like a lying idiot than to try and understand me and figure out how to love a child that was smarter than them.” 

“Ed…” Oswald has to go and sit next to him.   
_  
‘Are they still alive? Could I find them? At least mail them something disgusting or horrifying?’_

“Don’t feel bad about asking.” He says, and Oswald takes his hand. “I’m… glad you know.” 

Ed does not even look as upset as Oswald feels, he looks a little relieved if anything, so Oswald swallows the suggestion that they find out if they are alive and tell them exactly what he thinks of them, that they should be ashamed and that they should look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.

Because it isn’t his place, and it likely is not the smartest way to deal with the situation.

“Me too, it might teach me not to harp on about my parents like I do.” He says instead.

Ed shakes his head. “I’m glad you had someone who loved you so much when you were growing up.”

Oswald doesn’t know what to say, feeling overwhelmingly sad at the revelation that Ed’s childhood had been so awful - he may have suffered at school, but at least he had his home and someone that cared for him - so he just kisses Ed gently.

“Now, can we move on to a more entertaining topic of conversation?” Ed’s face breaks into a wide smile, clearly he does not want to dwell. 

“Such as…?”

“We could play ‘never have I ever.’”  
  
“Yes, and then after seven minutes in heaven, and then a pillow fight and hot chocolates to end the night?” Oswald rolls his eyes. 

“I know you’re making fun, but that does sound like a very entertaining evening. Although I think we could manage more than seven minutes.”

*** *** *** 

By 1am, they are several more drinks down and most definitely on their way to drunk. Oswald clearly has some aversion to just sitting normally on a chair, and is back on the fur rug by the fire, like a cat warming itself. 

“Had you slept with any other men before me?” Oswald asks, seemingly out of nowhere, though they have been asking each other these silly and teenage questions all night. Ed tries - his mind rather less sharp than usual - to figure out his intent in asking, eyeing him as he is over the top of his glass. 

“No, I hadn’t actually. Couldn’t you tell?” He says, self-deprecatingly. 

“A little.” Oswald shrugs.

_“Well, he didn’t have to_ **_agree_ ** _.”_

“You’re not the first man I’ve been attracted to though, I’ve always kind of just… Been attracted to any gender, I just never really got up the courage when I was younger to go after any of the guys I liked.” He rests his head on his hand.

“Like who?” Oswald asks, slightly amused. 

Ed laughs when he thinks about it, those old crushes seem so inconsequential now. “There was a guy in my forensics class - he was from Guatemala and he had the most _beautiful_ curly hair. I think the most I ever said to him was ‘it’s raining,’ and I still managed to convince him I was an oddball with that.”

Oswald can’t help but chuckle and shake his head. Ed wonders if Oswald would have liked him in college, even more gawky and awkward than when they’d first met; he probably would have found him annoying.

“A professor I had was very handsome, and kind, and let’s be honest, Jim Gordon isn’t hard on the eyes…”  
  
“He is not.” Oswald agrees, and Ed is rather glad to have that particular suspicion confirmed. “A shame he is genetically pre-disposed to being a wet blanket.”

Ed laughs.

“Well, I always found him handsome, I wouldn’t say I had a crush on him or anything like that.” Ed says, and he really hadn’t, he’d been too busy with his infatuation with someone else who, like Jim, barely had it in themselves to even humour him.  
  
Oswald cocks his head a little, like perhaps _he_ had been a little enamoured with Jim, even if just for a while. Ed really does not need to know that, so he isn’t going to ask. He does not too well with jealousy.

“And what about you?” He sets down his drink, if it is in his hand, he’ll drink it, and he needs to start on the water if he wants to get a good nights sleep.

“What? Slept with other men? You know I have.”

“Who?”  
  
“Oh god,” Oswald rests his head on the back seat of the chair like it’s heavy, “are we doing this?”

“Not to sound childish, but you started it.” 

Oswald sighs. “No one you know, all people in the business, and a bartender from when I was Mooney’s umbrella boy.”

“Mob guys?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re so stupid.”

“Well, I wasn’t looking for conversation, and neither were they.” He shrugs. Ed is almost wishing he hadn't asked, it seems as if their experiences with romance had been entirely opposite: his own intense and monogamous, with sex as a secondary focus, and Oswald's entirely without the relationship element at all. 

“So, what, bosses? Or lackeys? A lot of them?” He cannot stop questions pouring out of his mouth at the best of times, never mind when he’s been downing double whiskeys.

“Mostly older - Ed, I know you hate not having a whole picture, but I really feel like this isn’t a picture you want. Me, sleeping with other men. Do you really need that mental image?”

“I suppose not.” Ed responds, but it lingers in his mind a little. Physically, he is nothing like most of the mob men, all beefy and tough, had that been Oswald’s type before? Had his tastes just changed?

“So you’ve never… dated?” He asks, because he really cannot see Oswald sitting across a dinner table with some tattooed meathead.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He sips his wine. “I’ve never exactly been a catch, or _cared_ to date at all. Do you feel honoured to be my first boyfriend?”

It slips off his tongue so easily, the word ‘boyfriend’ and he isn’t even sure if either have them have used it yet. Ed likes it though, likes the little flutter in his stomach at the sound of it.

Oswald has a healthy glow across his cheeks and nose, and the neck of the jumper is low enough to expose his defined collarbones, past which Ed suspects there is probably more pink across his chest. He loves that, and maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but it reminds him how alive and warm he is, blood running under his skin. 

“Yes.” He crawls over to him and places a soft kiss on his cheek, before resting his own against it. Warm, just as he suspected. He dots kisses there, and across those smile lines, the neat crescents that cut into his cheeks that get deeper all the time, and then places one against the sensitive shell of his ear.

The pleased hum he gets in response reverberates through him pleasantly, down to his stomach.

“I hope you won’t be disappointed if I tell you I’m a little too tired for more than this tonight.” Oswald hand reaches up and holds the side of his face as he accepts his attentions.

“No, this will do.” Ed jokes with a smile against his skin, and pulls back to kiss him properly and enjoys the way Oswald wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him down lower, until Ed’s knees start to ache and he has to sit flush beside him.

It’s incredibly warm and comforting to just sit and kiss like this, touch each others skin and enjoy the heat of the fire against the snow that gently falls outside. Maybe he has just had too much to drink, but Ed rather enjoys the idea that one day they’ll come back here, or somewhere like it, and stay, and just let everyone wonder what ever happened to them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me!  
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main)  
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your late Christmas/Holiday/Thursday present, it's smut! I wrapped it myself.

Given that he usually did not get on well in strange beds, Oswald slept like the dead, as much as the plaid flannelette sheets might have revolted him at first. Aesthetics are very important to him, but he is surprised to find brushed cotton is significantly cosier than the satin he has spent ridiculous amounts of money on; half-awake, he smooths his fingers under the pillow and feels the soft bobbles of cotton. He could have kept sleeping for a few more hours, if not for an irritating thudding sound that kept disturbing him each time he tried to close his eyes and drift again. 

It takes him a moment to figure out that it is coming from outside the bedroom window, and that Ed is missing from the side of the bed he had fallen asleep on. 

_‘What the hell is he doing? Throwing rocks at the cabin?’_ When he goes to the window, he sees him a few feet away in the snow that has fallen thicker overnight, lining up a block of wood on a stump, and then bringing an axe down to chop it. Warm affection tries desperately to melt away his irritation at the sight of him, but doesn’t quite succeed.

Rolling his eyes, and checking his watch to find it is just before 7am, he tries to open the window, but finds it stuck. Early winter mornings still give him that visceral feeling of practically being dragged out of bed for school, away from warm and rest, when it’s barely even light. His eyes are bleary, and he is already annoyed.

“For the love of god.” He grumbles to himself, puts on his thick robe, and then wraps a blanket from the bed around his shoulders on top of it. He then finds the comfortable work boots he had found in a cupboard and that were a couple of sizes too big.

When he stomps outside, the chilly air takes his breath away and he is shivering in second; he hugs himself under the blanket. Ed doesn’t spot him at first despite his heavy footsteps, ushanka-hat over his ears and scarf up to his chin. The snow crunches under foot and it is bitterly cold, so he can't even appreciate the pretty way it glitters in the early-morning light. Early mornings are for coffee and toast in bed, not much else.

“What the hell, Ed?” He can see his breath in the cold air. 

“Oh! Good morning!” Ed smiles, far too brightly for the time of day, and rests on the axe when he notices Oswald’s less than pleased expression. “What? It’s cold, we need a fire.” He is a little breathless - physical labour really isn’t part of their day to day. He  is also looking at him like he is not acutely aware of why Oswald might be annoyed. 

“There is plenty of firewood in the house, you just want to play mountain man.” He tugs the blanket tight over his shoulders while  Ed laughs and sniffles, picking up another piece of wood and placing it on the block. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says.

"Well, wrap it up, it’s not a relaxing weekend if we’re awake at 7am.” Oswald makes to go back up the stairs to the door. 

“Are you not going to help me?” He asks, but like everything else, he knows the answer to that question.

“ _I’m_ going to take a morning bath, and I would advise that you come inside soon before you lose a finger to frostbite.” He says, and then calls over his shoulder: “Or another body part that is equally important to me.”

*** *** *** 

Perhaps chopping the firewood himself had not been the brightest idea; when Ed goes back into the cabin, he is chilled to the bone, and very jealous of Oswald when he emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel slung around his hips and phone to his ear. He shakes the snow off his coat and hangs it in the wardrobe while he listens to Oswald on the phone. It isn’t eavesdropping, Oswald is a couple of decibels away from yelling.

“I’m not sure what people misunderstand about the term ‘no late payments,’ I am sick of you listening to pathetic excuses and giving them extra time, it isn’t how this works.” He is pacing, and he can see the tension across his shoulders. “If they can’t produce my money by the end of the day, take a finger, if you’re too squeamish for that I’ll make sure to get _yours_ in recompense when I return.”

When he hangs up and drops the phone on the bed, he pinches the bridge of his nose, scowl on his brow.

“Idiots.” He murmurs, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Ed sits down as well behind him and traces the line of his spine with his finger. 

Oswald looks good with his clothes off, smooth, pale skin, sharp clavicles and collarbones. Ed had always found himself a little nervous when it comes to the more more touchy-feely side of intimacy, always felt a little unsure about it all, like his hands were ungraceful or his body too bony. It has never been that way with Oswald, he is always more than eager to touch that skin that just begs to be touched.  Maybe it’s how responsive he is, there’s no artifice with him, no playing it cool, he’s more than willing to keen and ask for what he wants. Oswald glances over his shoulder at him, and Ed admires his profile for a minute, that sharp nose that is entirely unique to him.

Kissing had not been enough last night, even though he had needed his sleep as well, but they are both quite awake now, and Oswald looks particularly inviting after being warmed by the bath.

Grinning to himself, he places his full palm on Oswald’s back so he jolts and shudders.

“Ed! Did you not wear gloves out there?” With a chuckle, Ed removes his hand, and Oswald relaxes when he presses his lips to his shoulder instead.

“I did, they’re just not very good.” He wants to rub away all that tension from the phone call, so he puts his hands on his shoulders and begins to tug him down without warning.

“What?” Oswald protests weakly. 

“Just calm down, jeez.” He guides him onto his back, before kneeling over him. Oswald’s is only just about hanging on, falling open at the hips, but it’s nothing Ed hasn’t seen before, plenty of times. “Trust me.”

Dealing with work makes him knot from head to toe, he physically holds his tension so tight. Ed massages his calf gently first, places his foot against his stomach to keep it elevated and notices Oswald blush a little bit. Gosh, if his blushing still doesn’t endear him desperately.

He hears Oswald let out a sharp breath through his nose; he isn’t looking at him, and his face looks somewhat uncomfortable still. 

“Am I hurting you?” Ed softens his fingers - there’s no sense in trying to relax him if it’s having the opposite effect. 

“No, it’s fine it’s just…” Oswald swallows and shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“What’s wrong?” He rubs his thumbs in circles over his knee. 

“It’s ugly.” He says quickly with a shrug and looks up at the ceiling, knits his fingers together over his chest. “I don’t like it when you look at it so closely...”

It takes a moment for it to register with Ed exactly what he’s talking about; the state of Oswald’s leg has been a part of his life for so long now, and something he sees all the time that he’s surprised to find he’s still insecure about him looking at it. 

“It’s just scars and bruised skin, there’s nothing ugly about it.” Ed shrugs off, hoping to impress his own nonchalance on him. 

“Of course there is.” Oswald says impatiently. “There’s no point in lying, it looks mangled.”

Ed sighs and digs his fingers into his muscle gently. It doesn’t matter if Oswald believes him, he knows it’s true, and there is no point in arguing with him when he’s insecure about something. He works on the raw purple skin on his shin, because he know it makes the pain less and the cold will be aggravating it. 

After a moment, a small noise of satisfaction leaves his mouth, and Ed smiles to himself. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks.

“No, it feels good.” Oswald admits, and lets out a long breath like he’s forcing himself to relax.  He continues to carefully massage his calf, feels the fine hair over his leg. There’s isn’t a lot of hair anywhere on his body below his eyebrows, it’s why he feels so smooth all over, touchable. Ed feels Oswald’s muscles relax, that tightness in his shoulders and almost looks like he could fall asleep.

“Nu-uh-uh.” Ed mumbles to himself, because he doesn’t want him to fall asleep, so he can’t resist slipping his hands further up his leg to his thigh, kneading the flesh higher and higher. 

“Do I need to ask where this is going?” Oswald still has his eyes shut, but he’s smiling a little.

“No, I’m sure you can figure it out.” And Ed slips a hand up into the towel, and takes Oswald’s gradually hardening cock in hand just to feel him, just enough to make his eyelids flutter. 

“Don’t tease me today, Ed.” He murmurs, his hips unconsciously rolling under his touch. Ed just lets him go, and leans down to suck a kiss to the side of his neck instead. It’s quite primitive, the desire to leave a mark on him, but he likes when that alabaster skin is flushed red from where his mouth was. 

“Why not?” He feels Oswald’s fingers grip his shirt at his sides.

“I’m in a terrible mood.” He presses his lips against Ed’s and pushes his tongue into his mouth. “I just need to be fucked.” 

The heat unfurling in his abdomen intensifies almost harshly, and he feels himself throb in his trousers, his breath ghosts across Oswald’s lips in the sigh he can’t help but release at hearing him talk like that. 

It worries him sometimes that one day the lustre will come off for one or both of them, that they’ll one day fail to ignite this searing heat in one another and be unable to bring it back, because Oswald will see him as the nervous oddball he used to be. But Oswald keeps eye contact with him as he sets to taking off his clothes with slightly rough hands, and he knows that can’t happen, because no one can light a fire in him like he can. No one has ever looked at him like _that_. 

Oswald’s grips his ass when he’s naked, clothes thrown randomly throughout the room, and pulls him tight on top of him, grinding their hips together. 

He almost wants to stop a moment and back up, calm himself so this won’t feel so heady and rushed. But it’s part of the fun, losing himself, not thinking for a while. He feels the head of Oswald’s cock rub against his own, and it’s wet with pre-come - yes, no thinking required.

“I want it, Ed, I want it.” He murmurs desperately against his lips, and Ed shudders, and leaves a lick on his lower lip before he pushes off of him to find his bag. Moving off his body heat is almost painful, and his fingers are trembling with excitement when he shoves clothes aside. Oswald lets out a ridiculously titillating moan behind him while he rummages, and when he returns to the bed with the little bottle of lube, he finds him with his head thrown back against the pillow and his hand around his cock.

It’s too much of a pretty sight for him not to pause by the bed, breathless, and take it in for a moment. Red down his chest, quivering stomach flattened from lying down, his dick incredibly hard against his abdomen as he slowly works himself with one hand and fondles his balls with the other. 

“Voyeur.” He says, his voice a little rough when he glances up at him. Ed kneels on the bed between his open legs, and leans down to lick one of his dusky pink nipples.

“Who wouldn’t be? With you, looking like that?” He runs his tongue across his chest to tease the other one for a second, scrapes it with his teeth, and Oswald hisses and drags him up to his face, grinding his hips up to his again insistently. 

“Just give it to me, please,” he kisses him with fervour, “I need it.”

Ed blindly flips open the cap of the bottle with one hand, not wanting to take his eyes off Oswald’s face, the passion he looks at him with, the frown in his forehead like he’s suffering every moment Ed isn’t inside him. He’s tuned to every squirm of Oswald’s body underneath him, the unconscious little undulation of his hips and the way his hands grip different parts of his body wherever they get the impulse.

He rather messily spreads the lube over his ass and is quick to push two fingers a little inside him, making him let out a shaky noise. The stretch of him is familiar, as is the satisfied exhalation he gets in response. He teases him like that for a moment, makes sure he is ready, and Oswald makes quick clear that he is when he pushes his hand away and bites Ed’s lower lip.

Impatient, as ever. 

*** *** *** 

Everything about Ed is _so long,_ and that part of him is of course no different. It feels so good, every time, like Ed was designed to stimulate him perfectly, every _single_ time. He pushes inside him slowly and carefully, he always does, and Oswald lets him go as slow as he likes - as much as he wants to lock his legs round his waist and pull him in faster, demand that he gives it to him properly. 

He must feel the dig of Oswald’s fingers in his back, because he picks up a steady rhythm, moving all the way in and almost out of him with purpose. Ed’s mouth is next to his ear, and he can feel the wet of his lips as he murmurs sweet and filthy encouragement to him - tells him how good he feels, how hot he is. 

_‘Still exhilarating, still a rush, the reality that it’s Ed.’_ When Ed sits back on his heels, and  his hands reach up to guide back Oswald’s knees a bit higher, his thrusts get shorter, moving deep inside him.  Oswald likes feels his mouth on his ear, but he likes this too, being able to see all of him, the look on his face and the bead of sweat that runs down his perfect chest and the taught muscles of his stomach. 

“Oh, _god_.” Oswald feels himself flush hot all over. He is starting to sweat a little, and he can feel his pulse thrumming in his neck. Ed groans and pants above him, and Oswald can about clear his vision enough to see the look of absolute satisfaction on his face, teeth clenched, watching himself move in and out of Oswald like it’s the most erotic thing he has ever seen.

Oswald lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, but images of Ed are there too. Of him now, and every other time they’ve done this, and at work, and drinking his coffee in the morning.

The next time Ed pushes into him, he angles his hips just right, and hit that spot inside Oswald that makes him almost shout out, vision clouding and dick pulsing. He can actually feel the precum leak down his dick at the feeling of it.

"Ah, there it is." Ed grunts and he can only whine in response, nodding, as Ed very deliberately aims just right every time.  It’s coming to the end too quick, but Oswald can’t stop it, the heady mix of the feeling of Ed hitting his prostate and the look and sound of him, it’s too much, he can’t physically contain himself. 

“Ed, you’re going to make me come.” He warns, screwing his eyes shut and gripping hold of Ed’s forearm where it’s planted below his armpit. 

Far from being deterred, Ed picks up his pace, clearly determined to push him there. Oswald feels it start to build, hot and tight and tingling, and he moans aloud, _too loud._ Ed has leaned down on his elbow, and moves inside him with insistence… insistence that he finish now. 

And he does. When it hits, it sears through him, pulling every muscle tight for a second, his brain absolutely fuzzy. Ed does not remotely relent when Oswald comes all over his own stomach, feeling delirious with the pleasure of it, feeling each pulse roll through him overwhelmingly. He involuntarily spasms around Ed’s cock, which only drives it out for longer, and he can hear himself whine in a completely undignified way, writhing underneath the onslaught. 

“God you - you’re so-“ Ed grunts, unable to articulate. 

“Fuck!” Oswald’s voice cracks. Ed just keeps pounding away, like he hadn’t even noticed, and all Oswald can do is grip onto his arms and moan and whimper in appreciation as he rides it out.

It’s only when the aftershocks start to somewhat die off that he realises he came without touching his cock at all. He isn’t sure if he’s ever managed that before, and he isn’t sure if Ed is even cognisant enough to have noticed.   
  
“I know you’ve got another one in you.” Ed’s breath is a hot promise over Oswald’s mouth and he screws his eyes shut. He isn’t sure he _has_ got another on in him, but Ed loves proving him wrong, and he pushes on Oswald’s good knee to spread him as far as he can without hurting him.

This is why Oswald can never let him go, he cannot handle anyone else ever feeling the same way he does right now. It’s for him, only for him. He wishes he could put this feeling, the absolutely pinnacle of pleasure, in a little silver box, and lock it away for only him to have. 

Ed keeps his hands on his thighs to keep him spread apart, and a dull ache starts in the muscles there, but he could not care less, it’s worth it to feel every inch of him moving in and out of him with enthusiastic vigour. 

“I love you so much.” Ed grounds out, eyes shut, and Oswald’s mouth falls open, looking at him. He is _so_ beautiful. 

“ _Ah_ , I love you too.” He manages to say, and reaches down to take himself in hand. It shocks him when Ed quickly takes his wrist and pins it down to the bed next to his hip. He  _had_ been paying attention then. Oswald can only look at him with open mouthed surprise, too pleasured to pretend to be offended; he gets a knowing grin in return, and Ed very deliberately bottoms out. 

“Nngh.” Oswald groans.  
  
And he feels it start building again, and Ed must feel him spasm, or notice the look on his face or something, because he smiles wide again, rapturously, and pushes himself in hard until he’s fully seated, and repeats the action, shaking him, pushing the second orgasm out of him.

“Ed! Ahh…” Oswald lets out some kind of garbled noise, and grips the sheets at the sides of his hips as he, sensitive as all hell, comes again, his cock aching but completely untouched, twitching against his abdomen. He screws his eyes shut, and his back arches against it, as much as he can bent in this position. His hands scramble to take hold of Ed’s ass and feel his muscles clench as he pushes inside him, movements falling out of rhythm a bit now.

Ed lets out a breathless laugh of delight, and groans in his own pleasure, and gets that look across his face, teeth clamping shut and his jaw twitching. He’s sweating in effort, his hair is curling on his forehead. 

Oswald wants to talk, wants to tell him to fill him up, but he can’t, his voice is too stretched and reedy and all he can do is groan and continue to take him. 

“Fuck, Oswald.” It’s about the only time he does swear, when they’re doing this. He leans down over him, hands behind his knees, and kisses him wetly, presses his nose against the side of his and moans into his mouth. Oswald slips his fingers into Ed’s hair, and intentionally clenches himself around him. Ed’s glasses are digging into Oswald’s eye socket, but he’s not about to detach from the lips to take them off him now. 

He wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him tighter against him. When Ed comes, his mouth opens and he lets out a choked noise, and Oswald delights in the feeling of being wetly filled, and Ed’s muscles tightening on top him. 

“ _Oh_.” Ed breathes, his hips twitching sporadically and rough-throated little grunts spilling out of his mouth. 

It lasts a long time, Oswald can feel him pulsing inside and his hips continue to grind for a while as he rides it out, just breathing heavy against Oswald’s mouth and filling him up with every bit of come he has.  Oswald keeps hold of his thick brown hair with one hand and digs his fingers into his back with the other. His inner thighs are absolutely burning now. 

“Oh, god.” Ed lets out a quivering breath against Oswald’s mouth, and presses their foreheads together, exhausted. 

He finally stops moving, and his body relaxes to a comfortable heavy weight on top of Oswald, letting his legs down.

When it finally begins to wear off for the both of them and they return to themselves, he presses little kisses against Ed’s cheek and his fingers turn to a stroking motion. He has no desire for him to move just yet, burning thighs or not - coming twice in very little time without his cock even being touched is more than worth a little ache.

It is only when he feels moisture against his cheek, and a small exhale of breath, that he realises Ed has started crying a bit, which is a surprise, because usually _he_ is the cryer. He pulls back, chin shaking a bit, and he carefully pulls out of Oswald and sits down beside him.

“Ed, Ed, what’s wrong?" Oswald sits up and exhales a shaking breath, feeling a bit thrown off by the sudden change mood. He puts his hand on his cheek, concerned, a little dazed. 

_‘Is it me? Have I done something wrong?’_

Ed can obviously see the worry on his face and wipe his cheeks, smiles a watery smile. “Nothing.” He leans down and kisses him. “Nothing, I promise.”

Oswald looks at him skeptically and uses his thumb to rub away a tear he missed, he draws his knees up to his chest.

“I just can’t get used to the way you make me feel.” He adjusts his glasses on his face, and speaks softly. “You’ll think I’m crazy if I try to explain…”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Oswald tries to make a little joke, and is glad when he gets a small laugh breathed out of Ed’s nose.

He purses his lips and seems to think for a moment.  
  
“I’m devoted to you.” He shrugs, finally, says it likes it’s obvious. “It’s just a bit overwhelming when I realise how I feel about you…. It scares me a little bit.”

Oswald feels his heart pick up in his chest; Ed is devoted to him - what a concept.

“I’ve just never been the best at dealing with very strong emotion, you might remember,” he touches the little white scar on his abdomen, and Oswald sharply remembers the pain of when he’d got it. “I worry I might say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing… With Kristen…”

He feels himself turn cold at the mention, he hates to think about anyone Ed loved before him.

“Well, I was obsessed with her, unhealthily.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to become something unhealthy to you.”

For the second time that weekend, Oswald’s chest aches at Ed’s vulnerability. He doesn’t speak for a moment, because he cannot even think where to begin in listing reasons that what Ed fears is the _opposite_ of true, that he isn’t sure where he’d even be now without him.  
  
But Ed takes his silence as upset, and moves to stand instead.  
  
“I’m going to get cleaned up, I’m sorry for putting this on you.” His voice sounds small and young, and he gives a small shake of his head to assure he’s okay with Oswald not responding.

Oswald quickly catches his hand and holds him there.

“No, Ed, stop. I’m not -“ He swallows, collecting his thoughts. “Look at this.” He gestures to the scarring on his leg.

“If you weren’t in my life, I never would have got the brace, I would have let it get worse and worse out of embarrassment. I would have let my temper overwhelm me and probably end up back in Arkham again.” He swallows. “You are _not_ a bad thing for me.” 

Ed nods, listening, but still looking rather sad.

“You and I didn’t start with infatuation, Ed. You - we… Grew. Us being together doesn’t stop you from being my first and dearest friend.” He admits. “My only friend. We’ve earned our mutual devotion.” 

Ed swallows and wipes his eyes under his glasses. 

“You’re devoted to me?” He is genuinely asking, Oswald wishes he could just beam his thoughts and feelings into Ed’s head for a moment, just so he could really understand. He feels another clench in his chest at the pinkness around Ed’s eyes. 

“I am in a cabin in the countryside, sitting on plaid sheets and miles away from a decent restaurant, do you think anyone else on this planet could get me to do that?”

Ed laughs a little again, and shakes his head.  And when he’s sure Ed at least doesn’t seem quite so worried anymore, Oswald runs a bath for the two of them, and soon they are both submerged in steaming scented water, Oswald’s head resting back against the tub and Ed’s back against his chest. 

It’s easier to chat like this, comfortable and relaxed, without the pressure of having to look one another dead in the eye and try to articulate everything they feel for each other.

“Do you ever wonder what things would be like if we were never born in Gotham? Like, if we met in a coffeeshop or at college or something?” Ed lifts his hand from the water and watches suds slide down his arm.

“Sometimes.” Oswald draws circles on the side of the bath. “But I doubt coffeeshop salaries would maintain a mansion.”

“True.”

“I can imagine you working in a library, personally, improving on the Dewey Decimal system.” Oswald says, and he really can. He can also imagine he would be pretty stingy about late returns. 

“Would you still like me?” He asks, lightly.

“Me? Like a dork like that? Of course not.” He says, biting back his laugh and receiving a small jab in the ribs. “We can pretend to be that normal though while we’re here, if you like. We can continue to be heartless bastards when we get home.” 

“Sounds good.” Ed says, and Oswald smooths his hair away from his face. “I have been getting some ideas while we’ve been here.”

“I know, I can see when the cogs are turning in your mind.” 

“Well, I bet you can’t guess who my target is.” His he lifts up his index finger like a cartoon scientist and his voice takes on that playful tone.

“Who?” Oswald asks.  
  
“Would an invitation to party like the gods be a bolt out of the blue?” He grins back at him.

“We’ve established that I adore you but I am far too tired for a riddle.” 

Ed sighs. “Well I’ll try again tomorrow, it’s no fun if I just _tell_ you.”  
  
Oswald nods and lays his head back, allowing his eyes to close. “Peachy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me a little while longer than I hoped for being fairly short, next chapter will be meatier.
> 
> Come talk to me!  
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main)  
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW smut warning.

Ed loves waking up early to cook in solitude, and it’s even more pleasurable here, where he can look out over the cold grounds outside the kitchen window, occasionally watch the birds flit through the trees and shake the snow from the branches. Oswald won’t be awake for a while, and he likes it that way, he enjoys having a meal prepared for when he finally trudges into the kitchen, too groggy to speak until he’s had a few sips of coffee and bites of food. 

He also likes being able to talk into his recorder, he can organise his thoughts better if he speaks out loud as opposed to his frantic notes on paper. 

“All it would require is the right building, each room representing increasing levels of difficulty, and the right mark.” He dices red peppers into tiny pieces. “Jim Gordon might be too smart to get lured into a trap, but then again anyone else at the GCPD would be too dumb to get through the first room.” Sighing, he drops the peppers into the whisked eggs.

“I need a worthy opponent, things get boring when I’m always the smartest person in the room.” 

When he tips the omelette mix into the frying pan, he clicks his recorder off, wishing they weren’t leaving tomorrow. He likes having Oswald alone and wrapped in knit, and he’s well aware that Oswald has been enjoying himself too, despite the frequent phone-checking. He’s been holding himself differently, more relaxed, shoulders not so constantly drawn up to his ears.

Sometimes, when he’s alone in the quiet like this, Ed waits for his other self to show up, to bug him or to tell him he’s being dull. That doesn’t happen so much now; peace is so much more ready at his fingertips than it used to be. He can hear the steady drip of the ice on the windowsill outside, and he sips his own coffee slowly, savours it. It's nice to be able to savour. 

Later, he somehow convinces Oswald to play Scrabble with him, maybe he felt bad for him after his emotional outburst the day before, but somehow board-game despising Oswald Cobblepot has been talked into playing a word game at the kitchen table.

_‘He looks cute with his face all screwed up in concentration.’_

“There is no way in hell that _jejunum_ is a word, you made that up.” 

“I did not.” Ed bites back his smile because he can see how annoyed Oswald looks. “I think someone’s getting a little bitter that he’s losing.” He can’t help but tease.

He gets a scowl at that.“I’m only losing by a few points, Ed, I can still catch you up.” Oswald stands up and crosses the room.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the dictionary, you’re bluffing.” He runs his finger across the book spines on the shelf.

Ed laughs. “Fine, get it, but please do not blame me when you come back with egg on your face.”

Oswald grumbles something to himself Ed can’t hear as he leafs through the heavy tome, and watches his back with vague amusement a he can see the irritation in the way he aggressively flicks the pages, murmuring to himself.

And he knows Oswald has found it in the book when he freezes for a second before he snaps the book closed and shoves it back on the shelf.

“Can’t we play Monopoly or something?”He sits at the table again, crossing his arms.

“No, we already played that once and it got too vicious.” 

“Because I wiped the floor with you.”

Ed knows Oswald cheated when they played, but he still can’t figure out how, which irks him.

Oswald is staring intently at his letters like they have personally offended him when there is a heavy knock on the door, and they look at each other in puzzlement. Visitors all the way out here are unheard of; Oswald is clearly as suspicious as him, because he picks up his trick-cane on the way to the door, finger poised over the button that will spring the blade.

Cautiously, Ed stands too, although the figure through the frosted glass does not look like the size or shape of one he would normally fear knocking on the door to shoot one or both of them in the head.  
  
When Oswald abruptly opens the door, his suspicions are confirmed, a woman even shorter than Oswald, looking to be in her mid-to-late 60s stands at the other side of the door, wispy greying hair under her wool hat and deep frown lines - a bundle of firewood clutched in her arms. Absolutely not a big bald mobster with a shotgun.

“ _Yes_?” Oswald asks, voice dripping with impatience - his manners can often use a little work.

“Mrs Strout, groundskeeper…” The woman breezes past Oswald, dragging in the cold with her. “I’m the one that replenishes the firewood, not all the trees produce the right kinda logs for burning, you wouldn’t know that if you weren’t from round here, but I lived here my whole life.” 

She haphazardly drops the wood beside the fire, and a few splinters fly off and cover the carpet.

Ed winces, he will have to get the vacuum on those the minute she leaves before they get trodden into the fur. He feels a little stunned that the woman has barged her way into the house, people don’t usually barge in on the two of them in any situation, they wouldn’t dare. He glances over at Oswald, who looks quite stunned himself, one hand on the door handle still and the other clutching his cane. 

He even jumps a little when a little white dog, some kind of scruffy terrier that runs straight to its owners’ feet, breezes by him. Oswald eyes it with trepidation and Ed knows why - white fur, black clothes.

Mrs Strout takes off her gloves and rubs her hands together, regarding the two of them.

“This is Stella, she’s old, but sweet, just can’t jump up on the furniture these days.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You know, when Mr Maroni lived here he used to offer us a cup of tea when we brought the wood. I say ‘we’ ‘cause my husband used to do this with me, he’s dead now, nasty stroke, and he never really much liked Mr Maroni anyway. You pay better.”

“I do?” Oswald closes the door, shivering from the air that has been let in. It is difficult to keep track of all the people they employ. “I mean, yes, of course, we’re very grateful for the wood now if you don’t mind…”

“Not at all, part of my job. Is String Bean here gonna get to work on that cuppa tea, or should I do it myself? I only ask because kids your age sometimes have trouble using the gas stove tops.” She walks over to the kitchen, and it takes Ed a moment to pick up on who ‘String Bean’ is. 

He’s too blindsided to actually be offended - he can’t tell if this woman is being wilfully ignorant to the idea they might not want her to be there, or if she just doesn’t care. He kind of envies that either way.

Either way, and maybe it’s because she reminds Ed too much of a particularly harsh but motherly math teacher he’d had in middle school, he just rubs his fingertips together and nods, and asks her how many sugars she would like in her tea.

Oswald can only widen his eyes and mouth a quick _‘what the fuck’_ at him to indicate his displeasure. Ed just shrugs, the woman clearly has now idea who either of them are and it wouldn’t hurt them to be a _little_ bit decent to people sometimes. 

“I brought a to-go cup, which I think works out quite well, ‘cause I can’t tell your man’s the type who doesn’t like visitors.” She gestures openly back at Oswald who splutters a little noise of objection. “No offence, I’m the same way, don’t like people in my space, can’t stand folks who can’t pick up on a vibe either.” 

He sees Oswald’s shoulders soften a bit at that, and he glances down at the little dog that has put her paws up on his trouser leg. 

“My husband was the opposite, too nice for his own good, especially for a pretty face.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know the feeling.” Oswald comments with a small smirk, not meeting Ed’s eye. 

“You boys been playing some board games?” She seats herself at the table and eyes the board. “Let me guess: you’re winning.” 

It’s Ed turn to smirk a bit when she points at him.

“How you know?” He asks, as he fills up the pot and sets it on the stove. Oswald has clearly resigned himself to the idea that they will be making conversation with this older woman while he makes her tea, so sits at the table too, although is clearly unable to keep the frown off his face. 

“The glasses, it’s obvious.” She shrugs and Ed can’t help but laugh a little bit. “He as smart as he looks?” 

“Oh no, quite dull actually.” Oswald says, and the older woman laughs while he reaches down at the dog that has followed him over and picks her up, scratching behind her ears. Ed can’t help but smile at the picture, it’s quite adorable really, he does have soft spot for animals.

The kettle begins to whistle, and Ed takes Mrs Strout’s travel cup and gets to work.

It’s odd to have their private little bubble pierced for a moment; it’s always when they come into contact with people that are so incredibly _normal_ that he realises how strange they are in comparison. They had been playing a silly board-game, but they had also been talking about their plans to get hold of military grade explosives - and here, this woman keeps the grounds around some old log cabins with her dog, has tea with the owners, finds firewood. She has no idea she’s talking to Penguin and the Riddler.  
  
Ed gets the impression she wouldn’t care even if they told her who they were, he’s a tiny bit jealous.

“So, you boys here for long?” She asks, as Ed sets the tea down in front of her. 

“Absolutely not.” Oswald says, looking down at the dog, who looks up at him. 

“Heh, I woulda put money on you being the shot-caller, looks like I was right.” She says to Oswald.

_‘Well, not_ **_all_ ** _the time.’_

“Why do you say that?” Oswald asks, and he looks vaguely amused now, rather than irritated.

“One of those faces.” She shrugs, and sips her tea, making an ‘ok’ gesture with her fingers in Ed’s direction. He sits himself down at the table beside Oswald and makes to scratch the dog’s head himself, she seems less keen, hugs herself closer to Oswald’s chest. “I got one of those faces too, I was the shot caller.”  
  
“I can believe that.” Ed says, and he really can. He’s almost bracing himself for her telling him his trigonometry is perfect but needs to stop daydreaming in class - it inspires a kind of innate, bone-deep respectfulness in him.

“Stella likes you, and she’s very particular about who she likes.” She stands, taking her cup with her, and finds her gloves to put back on.

“They have that in common.” Ed says, looking at Oswald, who rolls his eyes at him. 

Mrs Strout chuckles and sips her tea again. Her greying but mostly still dull-blonde hair is curly around her red face, and it makes her look far more youthful than her wrinkles suggest. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you too, sure I’ll see you again if you’re ever back.” She says, and Oswald sits her dog on the ground so it can follow her out, not before pecking it quickly on the head.

“I’m sure we will be.” Ed follows her out.

“I’m not.” Oswald says from his chair, and Ed lets out a sigh. 

“Nice meeting you.” He says, once the woman steps out into the cold again.

“You too, damn fine cup of tea.” She squeezes his elbow and her eyes crinkle in a small smile before she trudges away back into the tree line. Ed shivers against the frigid air and closes the door behind her.

“What a strange person.” Oswald says, and dusts the little white hairs off his sweater. “A little rude, don’t you think? To come barging in.”

“I guess but she brought decent wood. That stuff I cut isn’t catching well.” 

“I suppose.” Oswald shrugs, and screws up his nose in somewhat affected apathy.

“You liked her, I could tell.” 

“She was fine, I liked the dog.” He glances at his sweater again. “Even though I would not choose one that _sheds_.”

*** *** ***  


For the most part, their day continues as wholesome and domestic as it began, and Oswald really doesn't hate it. He isn't sure if it's the sheets or the fresh air, but he really has been sleeping better, and Zsasz has been contacting him very little, (he wonders if Ed has anything to do with that). Ed cooks their meals, and Oswald would feel bad if he didn't know he enjoyed it so much, and it works out well, because being on a little vacation gives him a handy excuse to eat as much as he likes. 

Come the evening though, after spending the day in shared serenity with nothing more than the occasional innocent touch, Oswald is hungry for something else entirely. It hasn't left his mind, Ed crying the day before, his emotional confession that he feels overwhelmed by their relationship sometimes. Oswald knows insecurity when he sees it, and he feels the need to remedy it if he can. 

It’s ridiculous that he can still get nervous about sex with Ed - it isn’t the act itself in this situation, they do it all the time - it is the fact that this time he has planned it, he has planned something has has specifically wanted to do for a while. The fact that Ed can even be a little bit insecure when he looks the way he looks boggles his mind, but he knows the way it feels, to have one image of yourself now and remember your old one so clearly. Ed succeeds in making _him_ feel beautiful and impressive, and he tries his best even when Oswald feels too insecure for it to work.

So it’s important to him that he knows just how attracted to him Oswald still is, and always will be.

He looks over his reflection in the bathroom and straightens out his shirt. They’ve just had dinner, so he’s dressed, - he hates eating in sloppy clothes - black shirt tucked into dark slacks. When they’re caught on a wave of mutual arousal and desperation to get each other off, there’s no time to get nervous or overthink, now, there is. 

_‘Easier to just jerk off thinking about him in the shower like I used to.’_

But he doesn’t want to do that, Ed’s right out there, in the living room, hot and real. Oswald undoes the top couple of buttons on his shirt and touches his own pulse in his throat, he’s already partly hard, excited about what’s about to come. The buttons were to expose a little of his collarbone, he knows Ed likes that. 

He takes a breath and leaves the bathroom and drags the standing mirror from the corner of the room to the foot of the bed. When he leaves the bedroom, he finds Ed at the sink washing dishes, back to him.

That surprisingly broad shouldered back, long neck, short hair at the nape, Oswald doesn’t get sick of looking at him. 

He catches himself being dopey, smiling to himself, and clears his throat. 

“Ed.” He says softly, and he turns his head just slightly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Come in here.” He says, and wets his slightly dry lips.

“Just five minutes, spaghetti sauce sticks to plates like nobody’s business.” 

Romantic. Oswald rolls his eyes and fights the urge to impatiently tap his foot. 

“Let it soak.” He says, in an effort to keep the tone somewhere between impatience and eagerness out of his voice.

Ed laughs a little bit. “You say that, but then you end up with disgusting red spaghetti water. Best to do it now.”

“God damn it Ed, would you just come in here?” Oswald feels it spill out of his mouth before he can stop it, but it’s effective, he turns to face him finally, looking a little concerned. “I - I need you in the _bedroom_ , Ed.”

Sometimes, laying it on with a trowel is all he can do; for someone so intelligent Ed can be remarkably dense when he’s set on a task, menial or not. 

Recognition seems to wash over his face, and he smirks and nods, rinsing off his hands under the tap and then crossing over to him standing in the bedroom door. Oswald feels a pleasant thrum through him when he looks up at Ed, towering over him like he does, and hums in relief when he leans down to kiss him slow and deliberate. 

Oswald drapes his arms over his shoulders and presses his body up against him; his fingers stroke the hair a the nape of his neck, and Ed’s hands slip down to his ass, just to hold him there. They’re still a little damp, his hands, and he can feel it through his trousers. 

“I can see you needed me for something very important.” Ed murmurs against his lips, smiling.

“Yes, I did.” He says, already finding himself a bit breathless, and moves away enough to take his hand and lead him into the dim bedroom. 

He sees Ed notice the mirror out of place, of course he notices, but Oswald’s little plan doesn’t change; he walks around him, sits himself against the pillows on the bed and ignores Ed’s cocked eyebrow. Fully clothed, he bites away any embarrassment and eyes Ed.

“Get undressed.” He says, and his voice comes out low.

Ed looks like he wants to question him, but he keeps his expression straight save for a sheepish little smile and starts to unbutton his shirt, He isn’t wearing an undershirt for once, so he gradually exposes that lean but toned torso Oswald knows so well now. 

When he takes off his trousers, Oswald adjusts on the bed; he can see the beginning of Ed’s erection pressed up against his boxer briefs, which are far tighter than they should be for Oswald’s sanity. He can make out the shape of him, and he _knows_ the shape of him, hidden just there under thin white cotton. 

“Are you not going to undress?” Ed asks, and there’s a little smile on the corner of his mouth, but his voice shakes a bit, which Oswald likes. 

“Not yet.” He says, and has to wet his lips at the picture Ed cuts in the low light - he watches his adam’s apple move. Ed thumbs the waistband of his underwear for a second before pulling them down. 

_‘God.’_

Oswald actually throbs in his trousers at the sight of Ed naked at the side of the bed, and fights off the urge to immediately take him in his mouth when he self-consciously palms his growing erection. Instead, he taps the space on the bed between his thighs, and catches his tongue between his teeth. 

Again, Ed looks like he wants to question, but he doesn’t, he just sits between his legs like he was told, back against Oswald’s chest.

“I feel very exposed.” He chuckles somewhat breathlessly, and his breath hitches when he remembers the mirror at the foot of the bed, eyeing his reflection with his mouth slightly open, surprise and aroused intrigue written across his features. 

“That is the point.” Oswald gently separates his knees, runs his fingertips down his thigh gently enough to make the muscles there quiver, and then takes his cock in hand and strokes him so softly it must almost feels like a tickle.

It inflates his ego like nothing else can to feel that he has the same affect on Ed that Ed has on him. He hardens quickly in his palm. 

“Oswald.” He breathes, clearly finding it hard to look at the deeply arousing and completely debauched reflection of the two of them, his head drops, his eyes slip closed. Oswald smiles against the side of his neck and sucks on it for good measure, working his hand very slowly, reaching up his other hand. 

“Stop closing your eyes.” He gently scolds, holds his throat and straightens his head on his shoulder. “Look how beautiful you are.” Their cheeks press together, and Ed turns his head just enough to catch the corner of his mouth. 

“Oswald.” He moans desperately, his mouth falls open as he watches Oswald’s lithe fingers move down to his balls to tease them and his cock in tandem. “Ah.” He hisses at the feeling, but keeps his eyes open. 

_‘Like a good boy.’_

Oswald keeps his hand moving, and holds Ed’s throat as he watches their reflection too. He can’t usually see what he’s doing to Ed and watch his expressions at the same time, but it’s like he’s watching them both on tv at this distance - Ed open and exposed, draped back against him. 

He adjusts his hips a little, because the erection trapped in his own trousers is insistent that he hurry this up. 

“You drive me crazy.” Oswald murmurs against his ear. “I love you so much I feel like I can’t breathe when I look at you.” His hand speeds up around Ed’s shaft, pushing him to the edge quicker. 

“Me too.” He gasps, and turned his head to kiss him wetly, gasping into his mouth. “Fuck me, Oswald, please.”

_‘Yes, yes, okay, whatever you want.’_

“Not yet.” He holds his jaw softly and turns his head to face the mirror again, to which he whines in frustration that Oswald desperately does not want to end, deliberately pushing his ass back against him. “Not until you come for me.” 

*** *** ***

Ed had not been expecting this tonight, but he’s not remotely disappointed. Oswald is working him off like it’s his job, and his commanding tone and strong hands are making his head feel fuzzy, pushing him towards the end even faster. Desperate, clutching Oswald is one thing, but dominant, assertive Oswald? That’s something else.

“Fuck.” Ed swears as Oswald pumps his hand firmly, but steady, his tongue coming out to taste his neck occasionally; it will not be long if he keeps that up, but he suspects Oswald knows that. He can feel his erection pressing into the small of his back, he can imagine it trapped in his underwear, hard and pink at the tip, and weeping. Ed feels like he could cry he wants it so badly, and he grinds back against him as if to encourage him to stop all this and just screw him already. 

“That’s it.” Oswald says when he can feel Ed tensing, and the increasing tightening of his balls when he reaches down to cup them. He is wriggling against him, and he knows Oswald’s cock must be painfully hard. Ed can feel it building to it’s crescendo, and Oswald is relentless in taking him there. 

“I’m- ahhh.” He moans his loudest, his head arching back against his shoulder and his eyes closing as his body spasms, his feet looking for purchase on the bed as he pushes himself back against him desperately and tries to make that feeling last as long as he can. 

He comes thick across his stomach and chest, and Oswald groans along with him at the sight, grabbing his chest and circling his nipple and not stopping the movement of his hand until the spasms calm and every drop is dragged from him. 

Ed finally pushes Oswald’s hand away when the intensity is too much, his moans falling to needy gasps, his hand reaches down to grasp his wrist tight. 

Oswald laughs a little breathlessly at the sight of Ed completely spent and at his mercy, and lifts his fingers to his mouth to enthusiastically suck the come off them. He actually feels another shock through him at that, his cock jumps weakly on his abdomen. 

“You - god - I can’t believe you.” Ed breathes out his own laugh, before kissing him hard and making him lie back, wasting no time in taking off his shirt and pulling on his trousers in a hurry. His cock is obvious in his underwear, a little wet mark where the tip sits, and he wastes no time in peeling the material off and barely letting him think before he puts it in his mouth. 

Getting fucked can wait, he needs to make Oswald come too. 

*** *** ***

“Ed.” He moans in surprise, watching it disappear between his lips as he wets him up and down, and then takes it all the way into his throat, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. When he looks at him again, he takes him in hand, and licks the tip with the flat of his tongue, making eye contact with him, making him feel like he might faint. 

“Shit.” He squeezes his eyes shut with a whine. 

He always sucks him off with enthusiasm, paying attention to his sounds, the way he grips his hair, knowing exactly what he likes and how he likes it. Oswald can hear himself moaning, whimpering even, but cannot physically stop it, the sensation always feels brand new, perfect, and satisfying.

When he sucks on the tip of his cock again and works him off quicker with his hand, slick with saliva and his precum, he bites his lip hard. 

“Oh my god.” He pleads. “Oh fuck, fuck, ah.” His head falls back, mouth open. He has weaved his fingers into Ed’s soft hair, and his grip on it tightens and softens without rhythm.

“Do you wanna come, Oswald?” He asks, his voice rough and washing over him like a hot shower.

He nods, eyes half lidded. “Yes.” He replies.

“Where?” He asks with a devilish little smile, and he has to look at him, his flushed cheeks and truly satisfied smile, continuing to work him off with his hand, reaching out the tip of his tongue while he watches him.

_‘God, fuck… He has no business looking that good, asking me that.’_

“In your mouth.” He says, feeling his cheeks and neck hot, even now, after how many times they’ve done this. The image of his come over his ass or maybe across his glasses makes him swell too, but his mouth is too hot and inviting.

“Okay.” And he takes the end of his cock in his mouth, his hand coming up to massage his balls, sending a shock through him. It doesn’t take him long after his encouragement to feel it build to a crescendo, his fingers on his balls working it out of him, and his come covers his tongue, and the back of his throat. 

“Fffffuck.” He swears shakily, one hand gripping the sheet and the other tugging on Ed’s hair.  
  
It’s almost too much to look at Ed, his eyes shut behind his glasses and swallowing him down, and he drags it out even further when he reaches up and presses his thumb against his perineum, making his head tip back and a louder groan of pleasure come out of his mouth.

“Jesus Christ you look so good like that.” Ed says, ragged voiced, but Oswald still can't think enough to reply, feeling his legs twitch and the aftershocks of pleasure making him feel wrung out. When he looks down at Ed, he's still right there, but he has his chin rested on his thigh and he's looking at him like they're at a Valentine's day dinner. There it is, Oswald feels like he can't breathe again, and it isn't only because he's just come. 

“Come here.” He says breathlessly, leaning forward as much as his jellied spine will let him to pull Ed to lie across him, laying kiss after kiss on his lips as he strokes the hair away from his sweaty face with clumsy hands. And then he holds onto his back and holds him tight against him and kisses his cheekbone and the dent in his chin, and he doesn't care that they're both dirty and sweaty. If he wasn't so ridiculously happy he would cry, because it's still too much, having Ed. 

“We’re good at that.” Ed says with a breathless smirk, his face flushed, looking absolutely wrecked and perfect as he moves to lay little kisses on his jaw and the side of his neck. “I liked your little mirror idea.” 

His hair is curly on his forehead, Oswald wishes he had a camera. 

“You should know what it looks like to give you an orgasm, you might understand why I’m so desperate for you all the time.” He confesses as  Ed lays his tired head on his chest and lets his muscles relax, his fingers draw lazy circles on his chest, breathing against his skin.

“Even when you’re rolling your eyes at me?”

“Especially then.” Oswald says, because it’s true. 

They lie together for a while as they get their breath back; Oswald almost falls asleep with Ed resting on him and caressing him like that, but they will be back in Gotham by tomorrow night and he wants to savour this moment, so he keeps himself awake for as long as he can.   
  
As if reading his thoughts, Ed speaks. “Are you looking forward to going home tomorrow?”

Oswald lets out a breath. No, he isn’t, not really, not as much as he makes out he is.

“I’m looking forward to getting back to work but, it’s been... nice, really, just me and you.” Oswald traces his finger over one of the veins in Ed’s hand. 

“It has been nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last in this wintry miniseries, hope you've liked this little diversion. 
> 
> The beginning of the new series has really given me ideas, I both love the idea of writing them canon (once a little more about what's going on with them is shown), but I also love the idea of writing them in that situation as this timeline version of them - how would their relationship work in the Gotham lockdown? 
> 
> Anyway, see you soon, I won't take too long with the finale! x
> 
> Come talk to me!  
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main)  
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! 
> 
> NSFW - smut warning.

Oswald feels a strange, unexpected sadness settle in his stomach when they pull away from the cabin and the white landscape melts to grey as they make their way down the highway. His mother could never really afford to take him on vacation as a child, but he imagines leaving would feel quite similar, returning to the real world, responsibilities, leaving a place behind where none of that had been very important. 

It’s still difficult to be too focused on the work waiting for him at home though, Ed keeps reaching over to touch his thigh, or stroke the back of his head with his free hand, and it is innocent and sweet but still distracting; Oswald is glad he isn’t the one driving. There’s almost always an undercurrent of heat between them, and it has intensified now, after a weekend enveloped in one another, kissing and touching as much as they please, nothing much else to _do_ but kiss and touch.

_‘Would it kill him to look ugly sometimes? Does he constantly have to look like he walked out of a 1950s noir film? God, seeing those cheekbones in the shadow of black and white would kill me.’_

Ed’s wandering hand has settled on Oswald’s upper thigh, and he rests his own palm over the back of it. 

“Did you learn piano because you have the fingers for it or was it just a happy accident?” Oswald says, considering. 

Chuckling, Ed glances down at his hand like he hadn’t thought about it before. 

“Happy accident. I started learning when I was a child, my hands didn’t look like this then.” He wiggles his fingers demonstratively. “That would be quite frightening, really.”

“My mother tried to teach me piano but I never managed much more than ‘Heart and Soul.’” Oswald rests his head back against the chair, he can remember her heartily singing along to his clumsy attempts anyway. “You’re just good at everything, aren’t you?”

Ed narrows his eyes and looks over at him. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing me.”

Oswald laughs. “ _That_ is a talent I _do_ have.”

Their conversation continues in this vein, silly and inconsequential, and Oswald puts his feet on the dashboard and allows himself to drift off every now and then, particularly when Ed sings along to whatever soft tune he has playing on the radio. Oswald mostly looks out of the window and watches the world flit past. 

When the humming of the car stops, he realises he has nodded off entirely, and quickly wipes the bit of drool that has collected in this corner of his mouth, hoping like hell Ed didn’t notice _that_.

“What’s going on?” He asks blearily. It only seems like he has been out for seconds but he feels groggy. Glancing at the clock, it has been a good half hour. 

“I was thinking lunch. I know the venue isn’t exactly… us.” Oswald looks out of the window. It certainly isn’t where they’d normally choose: a roadside diner that screams tacky Americana with it’s big old yellow sign and blanched ads for deals. “But we can eat somewhere more salubrious when we get home.”

Still, Oswald’s stomach is not protesting at the sight of the huge burger and fries that is brought by the waitress in the pink apron to a group sitting in the window.

“It’ll do.” Oswald says, and he reaches for his coat in the backseat before they climb out.

It is glaringly obvious that he gets a couple of glances when he walks in, and he knows it’s his purple and black striped coat that has gets the attention, down to his calfs- it’s opulent, that’s why he bought it, so people can look all they like. Standing out from the crowd bothers him less and less as he gets older. 

Ed’s nose is wrinkled when he looks over the menu, and Oswald wants to point out that he’s usually the one saying to stop being snobby about things. Fancy food is nice, but honestly, when Oswald is hungry, he’s hungry, his mother had never had the highest quality ingredients but she always made something delicious out of it. 

“Four patty burger? That sounds revolting.” Ed says, turning the laminated menu over.

_‘Does it?’_ Oswald wants to say but doesn’t. He could really go for a huge pile of red meat right now.

“I’m going to just get the caesar salad.” Ed says eventually, when Oswald makes a face at him, he raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“You’re seriously going to have a _salad_ to tide you over for the whole ride home?” He’s plenty thin enough already, he doesn’t ever seem to gain a pound either. 

“It’s plenty, I don’t trust them to cook the meat like I like.” He leans back against the red booth and wipes down the table in front of him with a napkin. “Don’t let it stop you getting what you want.” 

“Oh please.” Oswald rolls his eyes. A little itch of irritation forms in his gut. 

“What now?” And that impatient tone pushes it even more. 

“One: if you’re sitting there with a tiny salad and I get something huge and sloppy I’ll feel like a pig. Two: I know full well you won’t be able to keep that judgemental look off your face if I do, either.” He gestures to him, looking over the top of the menu.

“What judgemental look?” Ed looks vaguely amused.

“Do you want me to do an impression?” Oswald sounds snappier than he intends. A somewhat uncomfortable quiet settles over the table, and Oswald pointedly does not look at Ed. When Oswald opens his mouth to say something, maybe to apologise but probably just to talk around it, the round-faced waitress in the old fashioned outfit walks over, notepad out. 

Ed orders a black coffee and his salad, and Oswald a burger and fries - with one patty, not four. Thinking about it, he dreads to think how that must sit in the stomach after a while. He orders a chocolate milkshake with it though, and though it’s rather childish a meal, it is a delicious combination. They aren’t really talking though, just listening to the white noise hum of the diner and the low volume song that’s playing over the jukebox - maybe Elvis? Oswald isn’t sure. 

“I don’t judge you, you know?” Ed says quietly as he stirs sweetener into his coffee. Oswald swallows a mouthful and nods, feeling guilty that he has made _him_ feel guilty. 

“I know you don’t, I was just being snippy.” He admits. “Sorry for that.” The word still feels dragged from his mouth but it’s getting a little easier. 

“It’s alright.” Ed says. “You’ve been meaner.”

Oswald chuckles and shakes his head. “You _are_ right as well.” He pops a fry in his mouth. “I will end up getting fat.”

“I don’t care.” Ed says, and Oswald scoffs at that. 

_‘Sure he wouldn’t.’_

“I really wouldn’t, Oswald. I mean, I don’t want you to be terribly unhealthy but it makes no difference to me if you put on a little weight.” 

“You’re talking like it’s a hypothetical, I _have_ put on weight since we met.” Oswald says, and he doesn’t feel bad or embarrassed about it, it’s just true. 

“Have you?” Ed glances him up and down.

“Oh, please don’t act like you haven’t noticed.” Oswald rolls his eyes. 

“Well, I mean, you were so skinny when we met, you just fill your suits out better now.” Ed shrugs, and Oswald isn’t sure if it’s just a clever deflection.

“Well, what about when I start spilling out of them?” He raises his eyebrow. 

“I’ll still want you.” Ed says, matter-of-factly.

Oswald laughs, and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “We’ll see if that’s true if I ever get there.” 

Ed rests his head on his hand and regards him for a moment. 

“I know you’re joking, but I almost wish there were something you _could_ do that would make me stop being so preoccupied with every single part of you.” He sips his coffee, watching him over the top of the rim and knowing full well he has made him blush. “But no, since the day we met my subconscious has been obsessed with you.”

“Ed…” His chuckle comes out a bit nervous, and he looks at his hands. 

Glancing around the restaurant, he speaks softly. “All those long nights… In bed by myself, in the shower…” 

_‘Okay, no doubt anymore that he is doing this very much on purpose.’_

“We are in public.” 

“It got much worse when I became your chief of staff and moved into the mansion.” He says it conversationally, even waves over the waitress to take the plates they have done with. “Knowing you were just down the hall and just praying that you might have been getting yourself thinking about me too.”

His ears burn hot and he swallows deeply; Ed loves doing this to him sometimes, making him completely flustered. The waitress comes over and begins to take their dishes.

“Well?” He continues their conversation while she stands there, adjusting the plates on her forearms. “Did you?”

She has no idea what they are talking about, but it’s a challenge, a little volley into his court, and he knows it. He’s got that cocky Riddler face on, amused eyes crinkled at the corners behind his lenses. 

“Yes, many times.” He says, keeping his own tone as light as possible. “Every chance I could.”

He sees Ed’s eyes close just for a second while he savours it, and wets his lips.

When the waitress walks away, Oswald decides he isn’t done with this little game.

“Sometimes it couldn’t even wait for the bedroom.” He moves his straw around in the mushy remains of his milkshake. “Just had to hide in a hallway and stuff my tie in my mouth, when you accidentally said something that made me so hard I couldn’t think.”

A little breath of a noise comes out of Ed’s mouth, something between a gasp and a suppressed moan, and Oswald feels endlessly delighted at having one-upped him, wiped the smug smile off his face.

_‘God he gets a look in his eye like he wants to rip me apart sometimes.’_ He’s got such a look now, his cheeks are pink and his lips slightly parted.

“We have to go.” He says, reaching in his back pocket to fish out his wallet.  
  
“No dessert?” Oswald asks with a too-innocent smile. 

No answer is forthcoming, but it really does not matter anyway, the minute Ed has rushed him out of the restaurant and into the car, he leans over the centre console and pulls him into a deep kiss, holding onto the back of his head tight. His fingers weave into his hair, and he free hand cups him in his trousers without warning.

“Oh.” Oswald moans against his lips, his hips raise up reflexively. 

“I really want to fuck you.” Ed breaks apart enough to say. 

“Me too.” Oswald keeps hold of the collar of Ed’s jacket. “But it’s broad daylight.”

“I know.” He leaves a kiss on Oswald jaw and pulls back, turns the key in the ignition. “Need to find somewhere quiet.” 

The more rational part of his brain wants to tell him it can wait until they get home, that there’s no way he’ll be able to find anywhere closed off enough for them do that, but the raging erection in his pants that does not want to go away wins out. It does not help that Ed persists in rubbing him whenever he gets the chance. 

And because Ed is persistent, he eventually pulls off the main road and onto a small stretch of country path, quiet, completely quiet and between two fields, though very much in the open.

“Anyone could turn down here.” Oswald says, because he has to at least _say_ it. And it isn’t even a warning really, more of a comment in a quick breath. Ed is already shrugging off his coat and reaching in the back for his overnight bag, frantic-handed.

“I think you kind of like that idea though, don’t you?” He makes a mess of their neatly folded clothes, but he finds what he’s looking for, that little bottle. 

Oswald thinks of it for a second, of someone seeing them, and no, he does not dislike the image as much as he should. Soon enough, Oswald is in Ed’s lap, car seat pushed all the way back, and they kiss wetly, desperately, grinding against each other like teenagers until it becomes too frustrating to bear. Getting Oswald’s pants off makes them both laugh, because it requires him hopping out of the car and removing his brace in the cold, before his pants, as quickly as possible while Ed tugs his down just enough to expose his obscenely hard dick. 

“This is ridiculous.” Oswald says breathlessly as he slams the door closed and clambers back on top of him, tossing his metal brace over the seat back, his leather one still in place over his long sock.

“Worth it though.” Ed nips his lower lip, and wastes no time in reaching around Oswald’s backside and pressing his slicked-up fingers against his ass. _‘When did he even do that?’_ He quivers, and holds onto Ed’s shirted shoulders to ground himself, panting against his mouth when Ed starts to slowly finger him open. 

When he pushes in a second finger, then a third, and the middle curls to gently massage his prostate, Oswald lets out a high pitched moan and rocks his hips against Ed’s working hand. His head presses against Ed’s shoulder. It’s almost too much, when Ed’s left hand finds his cock and begins to work him, Oswald shakes his head and stops rocking. 

“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.” He breathes out, and kisses Ed desperately, all tongue. 

“You look so pretty when you come.” Ed moans, faking like he missed the point, and Oswald whimpers and trembles, precum leaks from his tip. 

“But I want you inside me when I do.” Oswald shifts his hips and reaches back to slowly extricate Ed’s fingers from him. He knows he has to be the one to hurry this up, Ed can quite forget where he is when he’s set on a task.

Sitting up on his knees, he takes the initiative to line the tip of Ed’s cock up with his entrance, and slowly sink down, eyes slipping shut and an extended breath escaping his lips. It always feels fuller this way, he’s so aware of every inch of him as he moves down his shaft. Ed holds onto his hips tightly, lips falling open in a moan.

“So tight for me.” He murmurs, guiding Oswald down. Oswald likes that _‘for me,’_ because it is only for him.

Once he has adjusted, Oswald picks up a rhythm that he knows will take them both there, delighting in the way Ed can’t resist reaching round to feel his ass at it moves up and down on him, squeezing, guiding. Oswald’s own cock is up against his belly, probably staining his shirt, but he really could not care less.

“Did you mean it?” Ed grits out, sweating. “Did you really used to go in the hall and masturbate after we, _oh fuck_ , talked?”

“Ah!” Oswald gasps, because Ed is shoving harder into him at the thought, pushing up his own hips and pulling Oswald down at the same time. It makes him feel delirious, dizzy, “Yes, yes, I wanted you so bad.” 

Ed groans, eyes closing and brow knitting, and he almost looks frustrated, shifting to try and push up into him deeper. He tries it for a while, and lets out a throaty grunt and curses. 

“Do you trust me?” He suddenly asks, and Oswald pauses, panting, looking at him with confusion.

“Yes…” As soon as the word leaves his mouth, Ed tugs on the door handle, wraps Oswald around his waist and clumsily bails out of the car, until Oswald’s back hits grass with an ‘oof!’

“Jesus, Ed!” There is barely any hesitation before Ed pushes all the way back inside him again, and, all he can do is grab hold of his shoulders and take the onslaught of Ed thrusting into him properly, red-faced and ragged above him.

It’s all so dirty, literally and figuratively, and it’s far too cold to be doing this out in the open; but Ed has found that position that hits his prostate just right every time, he is moaning loud like he’s never felt anything so good before, and he’s pushing Oswald’s good knee up with his hand to keep him open - so Oswald doesn’t really care.

“I’m not going to last long, you feel so fucking good.” Ed tells him, and Oswald deliberately clenched down on him to make him swear again. 

_‘His mouth, filthy.’_

He wraps his arms around Ed’s shoulders and tugs him down to his mouth, weaves his fingers into the back of his hair. The smooth glide of his cock is making him tingle all over, he can feel it rolling through his abdomen and tighten his balls. 

“ _Nngahh!_ ” Ed’s brow crinkles and he gasps into Oswald’s mouth. And then his thrusts get longer and harder, until he grips Oswald so hard it almost hurts and spills inside of him, mouth dropping open in a long groan and the occasional curse. He holds him tight against him, fills him up with his spend, and Oswald wriggles his hips as much as he can to take it. 

Oswald touches his cheek and watches his face while he comes, because he can never get over how completely beautiful and unrestrained he looks when he’s pumping wetly inside him. 

It’s only when Ed’s sounds finally peter off and the pulses inside him stop that Oswald realises he has managed not to come yet, miraculously, and he reaches down start to stroke himself. Sweat on his temples, Ed looks down at the action, panting, and carefully pulls out of Oswald.

There’s no time to think; he inadvertently takes a handful of dirt and grass when Ed moves down his body and swallows his cock down in one. 

“Fuck!” Oswald’s voice is shot to shreds, his free hand grabs Ed’s hair and his back arches into the hotness of his mouth. Vaguely, he’s aware that he’s going to get grass in his hair arching back like this, but he can’t help it. 

Still trembling from the force of his own orgasm, Ed sucks him with vigour, eager to finish him off, because they _really_ shouldn’t be taking their sweet time about this. When one of Ed’s hands reaches up his shirt blindly to pinch his nipple, Oswald jerks, his cock jumps in Ed’s mouth.

“Ed, Ed, don’t stop, just like that.” He whimpers, writhing. Really, he’s probably pulling his hair too hard, but the rugged setting makes it seem fitting. He can just about hear birds singing through the blood rushing in his ears. The wet sound of Ed bobbing between his legs and the occasional hum of delight that vibrates out of his mouth is pushing him to the end.

When Ed presses the tips of his fingers inside where his cock was just filling him and teases him there, Oswald is gone, his back bows and he spurts in Ed’s mouth and throat with nothing short of a yelp.  
  
“Oh my god, oh my god.” He moans, just about coherent, and high pitched, because Ed doesn’t stop sucking him until Oswald can’t physically take it anymore.

Removing his mouth with in obscene pop, Ed looks up at him, and plants little kisses on Oswald’s hypersensitive dick. 

“You’re bright red.” He says with a tired smile and crawls up his body to kiss him deeply.

Oswald is still quivering, the sheen of sweat on his body makes his clothes stick to him and he puts his hands on Ed’s face to feels the heat emanating off his cheeks.

“So are you, it’s too cold out here for - this.” And he feels it then, the cold, even with Ed’s hot body on top of him. 

Ed lets out a rough chuckle and presses his forehead against Oswald’s.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be, it was…” Fucking mind-blowing? One of the hottest things we’ve ever done? “I liked it.” He feels himself smiling. Ed kisses him again.

“Me too.”

Getting themselves off the ground and somewhat together again reveals the extent of the damage. Oswald’s coat has green grass stains on the back, and he can’t quite get the dirt from behind his short fingernails. The knees of Ed’s trousers are ruined, and try as he might, he just can’t fix the mess Oswald has made of his hair.

Worth it, though, Oswald’s knees still feel wobbly a few more miles down the highway. 

It’s beginning to get dark, and he takes over driving for a while, because it’s only fair that Ed also gets some time to sleep, which he does. Oswald keeps glancing over at him, arms crossed over his stomach and back resting against car door; he snores a little, which he swears blind that he doesn’t, with his mouth shut it’s all nasal, and it makes him chuckle to himself. Dishevelled Ed is one of his favourite looks. 

Legs and backside beginning to ache from being sat for so long, Oswald is glad when he starts seeing the signs for Gotham, and when he finally gets onto the bridge and can see that dark, familiar skyline, Wayne Tower standing above all. He has no interest in making the drive any longer, so decides to forgo the mansion for the penthouse instead. 

The car rolling to a stop when they arrive is what finally wakes Ed up, yawning wide.

“Home again, home again.” Ed mumbles and stretches out his arms. 

“Everything seems to be as we left it.” Oswald says, and climbs out of the car. He’ll have an assistant collect their bags and put the car away, he needs to get into more comfortable clothes and his own bed at long last. His leg aches in protest when he stands, but it’s nothing like it would have been before, and he pauses for just a moment before they head inside. 

The doorman greets them politely, and Oswald just nods curtly, too tired to bother to be polite. When they get inside the apartment, he half expects something to be wrong; the place to be smashed to bits, covered in blood with a note telling him his empire is lost and he should have never left.  But no, his answering machine is full of messages from his colleagues, mundane updates from Zsasz and the others, and the housekeepers have kept the place clean and neat, even turned on the heat in time for their return. 

As soon as they have shrugged off their coats and shoes, Ed makes a beeline for the bedroom and Oswald follows him as he lets out a sigh and flops himself on the bed, stretching his long body out. 

“What happened to our sheets? Is this brushed cotton?” He asks vaguely, with his eyes closed as his hands feel the fabric. 

_‘Ah, my assistants work quick.’_ He had forgotten he had called with the request for new sheets to be bought. 

Oswald shrugs and sits down next to him, feels the plaid material (which entirely does not match the rest of the room) for himself. It really _is_ so much cosier than satin. 

“Just a little something to remember our trip by.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for this little interlude, I hope you enjoyed, this was a fun one to write. Like I mentioned last time, the new series is really giving me a lot of inspo and I think the next thing I write will still be in this canon diverged timeline, but set in the present series (I'll just wait for another couple of episodes to come out so I can see the state of Gotham more). Ready to write something longer and meatier, so keep an eye out! 
> 
>  
> 
> Come talk to me!  
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main)  
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


End file.
